Return to

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. 
This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express 
written permission of the author.




          VERLO is a young man with vibrant eyes. Two medical workers in
          day-glo jumpsuits are pulling him from a sensory deprivation
          tank. The sensory deprivation tank is lifted by industrial
          robot arms and 'filed' in a monolithic wall of a high-tech
          mortuary styled facility. Medical workers load Verlo into
          the bed of a 'pick-up' cart. The cart zips through the
          factory at breakneck speeds.

          EXT- Tropical Beach with white sand & palm trees- Day
          A cabana with a thatched roof is a fifty yards from the
          crystal blue surf. A hammock is stretched between two palm
          trees. Women from the Gauguin painting -Arearea- are
          bringing fruits and vegetables to the cabana.

                    Do you know how dreams work?

                    Mi quiero,... you know you can
                    always dream for me.

          Verlo grabs Amerika by the hips. He drags her on top

                    ...with you, I don't think I'm
                    going to have enough time to dream.

          They roll on the bed. Their bodies morph into the surf.


                    v.o.) I am awake from my sleep.
                    First things first... I 've gotta
                    remember where I am. I went to
                    sleep twelve hours ago. Twelve is
                    max for most. I've been cleared for
                    sixteen. I always come back.


                              DOCTOR SUSAN KARTOG -
                    Brilliant female scientist & dream
                    researcher is wearing glasses. The
                    glasses reflect the projected
                    imagery including diagrams of human brain,
                    neural activity, synaptic fires,
                    operating theater, etc & ect...

                         (v.o.) Gentlemen, we have
                         found a 'Rara Avis' sleeper.

                                                          CUT TO:


          'Pick-up' cart dead stops with no inertia. Two medical workers
          approach impossibly long metal desk. One human, RE-INSERTION
          SECRETARY, looks up in a bothered way from the computer
          screen as the workers guide Verlo to the desk. The workers

                         (v.o.) I'm different, they
                         say. I understand the tube rushers,
                         the background ambiance, the
                         flow of constant media info...
                         I always come back, in one
                         piece and... I always
                         understand the rules.

                    Please sign this statement, cadet.

          A printer sparks to life. An insane number of pages are churned
          out. Verlo ham-handedly fondling the lava flow of pages.

                         (v.o.) This is my first human
                         contact, a secretary. A tech
                         pen is thrust into my right
                         hand. I've got to... try to
                         remember where I have come


          Verlo standing by a lake at sunset.

                         (v.o.) It was autumn. It's
                         always autumn, in my dreams.
                         The autumn of my dreams is
                         always quiet and lonely.
                         Always those teenaged autumns
                         I began to dread every July.
                         How I hated in those days. I would
                         kick someone's ass at the drop
                         of a hat. I would fuck
                         anything on two legs. Autumn
                         was a personal rebellious
                         fantasy. Autumn was a long
                         time ago.

          Beautiful Girl is splashing in the sunlight reflected on a placid


          Autumn was a mermaiden who stole my youth and slipped away before
          I had realized it was even a commodity. Burnt orange leaf
          corpses were her kisses. These are kisses no more. Now is
          perpetual summer without the release of autumn.


          Secretary eyes Verlo with a scrutinizing concern. One
          eyebrow arched. Verlo smiles non-challantly.

                         (v.o.) Standard inquiry,
                         standard response. Means I haven't
                         forgot my work. Means I can
                         sleep again. Lucky me.

                    Are your motor skills becoming
                    diminished through these voluntary

                         (v.o. close shots of legal
                         forms with glowing words 'Dream
                         Research Volunteer') I
                         scribble my name. Whatever it


          distant security camera shots of Verlo leaving building with hands
          in pockets. Monochromatic hues of children and the elderly
          talking into hands-free telecommunication gear as Verlo
          passes by.

          Verlo wanders through industrial sections with
          determination. Clock faces on brick buildings all showing
          different hours. VERLO somewhat panicky running through
          industrial section with green LED of nuclear clock running
          along the bottom of frame

                         (v.o.) This main character,
                         which is me, and in some way
                         everyone who lives outside an
                         easily managed society, is the
                         bane of modern thinking. If
                         you think too much psychosis
                         becomes the diagnosis of the
                         self assumed enlightened
                         layperson. Too little and you
                         morph into a replica of an Amerikan
                         media generated icon. Try to
                         express your thoughts in a
                         manner that arouses no curious
                         onlookers at times of
                         masterful dissemination.
                         Confuse the hell outta all the
                         monkeys crowded around the
                         television set. This is where
                         the modern thinker shines.
                         Strangely desperate verbal
                         codes whispered in passing, handbills
                         printed in invisible ink.


          Kartog surrounded with enormous presentational video screens addressing
          a group of 12 white smocked scientists. Watching Verlo run
          through the Industrial section

                    The actual birth name is Micheal
                    Strow,... yet for reasons beyond
                    the scope of this research he
                    changed it to Lazlo Verlo. He was
                    born in Atlantis or where Atlantis
                    was supposed to have been. The
                    twists & tweaks of evolutionary
                    fate, however, would furrow the
                    brow of even the most tedious seismic
                    cartographer. Ladies & Gentlemen
                    may I please introduce Lazlo Verlo.


          Campfire along overgrown railroad tracks in some God
          forsaken sinkhole middle of Amerika. AROUND THE FIRE- white
          people dressed like Indians, drag queens, black cowboys,
          happy drunken hookers, and small children wearing ancient,
          corporate, sports clothing.

          A rather large man, TOM MORROW, bearing the countenance of Orson
          Wells, dressed as an Arab, is narrating this tale.

                              TOM MORROW
                    Old Scratch had been clawing at the
                    floorboards of our hero's brain fer
                    so long it seemed the only way out
                    was to sign up for the governmentally
                    sponsored 'sleep studies'. I, in my
                    role of narrator, do not wish to
                    misinform the gentle people, this
                    being y'all, into believing this timeline
                    to take place in some mythical
                    near-future setting. Now-a-days,
                    people sleep in a bizarre
                    awake-ness. Sleeping only when the
                    overload of image, stresses- {both
                    physical & mental}-, signs, &
                    symbolic rigmarole short-circuit
                    our groveling synaptic tentacles.
                    While sleeping, cars race, horns
                    blare, electrically imparted
                    information clouds molecules of
                    atmosphere. We, in our modern sleep
                    cycle, are influenced by the 'white
                    noise' of this ever grinding..
                    scraping realm. The idea of the
                    Science League's sleep experiments, or
                    so suggests the high-tech
                    grapevine, germinated when some
                    geek's love for Woody Allen's film
                    'Sleeper' was fleshed out to a
                    point of crackpot technology. Between
                    you and me, I believe it was a
                    drug-induced lark. That on top of
                    the fact the science monkeys are
                    sitting around o a mountain of cash
                    with their thumbs up their
                    collective asses. Kin... I git... a
                    'Holy, Holy!'?

          The entire tribe howls.


          Verlo holding badge high for security cameras. Heading towards
          middle bank of elevators. Verlo exiting elevators on 22nd
          floor. Opening brass handle of wooden door.

                    Did you call for me, MR. REYES?

          MR. REYES reading documents. MR. REYES rubs eyes, pushes
          back in chair, yawns & stretches as he begins to speak.

                              MR. REYES
                    It's nothing very important, Laz. I
                    was wondering if you had a few
                    moments we could share, hmm?

                    A few moments?

                              MR. REYES
                    Ten/fifteen minutes-ish

                    Uh... SURE! Why not? I'll just go
                    down to fill out the paperwork and
                    we can meet... around... after

                              MR. REYES
                    I've already anticipated your
                    response and had a temp fill out
                    the paperwork.

                    Then... I'll finish my FAX-ing and
                    come back here directly?

                              MR REYES
                    I've gotten another temp to finish
                    your FAX-ings.

                    We can meet... now?

                              MR REYES
                    That would be excellent, Mr. Verlo.
                    Sign this paper and we can begin
                    our 'non-critical yet rather
                    necessary' communications which
                    should last for approximately
                    fifteen to twenty minutes.


          Sandaled feet walking on both sidewalk and small patches of grass.
          Skyward capturing AMERIKA (Young Hispanic woman) on a
          backdrop of war from hundreds of years (horsemen of
          apocalypse running through fields of smoke, puddles of
          blood, crushing childrens' toys, etc...). Amerika smiles
          unaffected by the horror. She walks with purpose through the
          concrete canyons of generic metropolis.

          SOUND- girl humming in Spanish A driverless car crashes into lamppost
          that sets up a cacophony of clocks, chiming with bells &


                              MR. REYES
                    Why don't you take a seat?

          Verlo reaches for the back of an office chair. A mechanical buzz
          forms a line across his forehead, drowning out MR. REYES'
          voice. The entire field of vision is compressed into a
          half-inch square. Verlo grasps the chair with desperate
          strength. Succumbing to the buzz and white light, Verlo plops
          in the chair.

                              MR. REYES-
                    Unaware of the headspin/compression
                    continues speaking as you can
                    see, we are quite concerned by
                    recent exhibitions. We are running
                    a business. We need to stay as
                    professional as we are capable of
                    staying. You agree, of course, Mr.
                    Verlo, do you not?


          The onset of another headspin/compression attack

                    Of course. Why not?

                              MR. REYES-
                    Splendid! Tean fromp celop...
                    Drowns into the white noise and white

                                                          CUT TO:

                              DREAMER DREAMING-

          MOREEN - light & etheric - MOREEN is the narrative voice of
          all dreams. Dream one begins as a reflective gleam in
          Verlo's eye. All dreams take place on a stage of chaotic
          dimensional possibilities

                              MOREEN (VO)
                    More snow. More Winter. More cold.
                    Shaking off the last strands of an
                    incredible dream. Awake to realize
                    once again... limbo.

                              -LIMBO FILLED WITH A MILLION ANGRY

          Smilers swarm throughout Limbo. LEAD ANGRY SMILER
          approaches. All other Angry Smilers form various patterns
          behind the Lead.

                              LEAD ANGRY SMILER
                    'we'll ONLY let you be god if you
                    let us kill you. We've already got
                    enough candidates for

                              THE ONLY SPACE THAT'S LEFT IS....
                    Let me see...
                         (lead Angry Smiler leafs
                         through a gigantic book of judgments)
                         ...O.k., here IT IS, (Lead
                         Angry Smiler running finger
                         down the page) ...the ONLY
                         SPACE that's available is...

                    Will YOU let US throttle you, you
                    worthless little godhead wannabe?'

                         (v.o.) Disassociation is the
                         key. Remember those dark nights
                         of your past? Where the
                         howling only ceased as you set
                         your vision inward. The
                         stories you told yourself were
                         beyond beauty.


                              DREAM IMAGE ONE [ALARMIST]
                    Sinking skinning ever softer, ever
                    deeper. Deliberate slacking of
                    muscle, gelatinous. Mission Control
                    intervenes in static syllables "Heads
                    up, Captain! You are entering the
                    gauze in three,. two,.." ONE rings through
                    tinny corrugation. An eternity
                    spans from the 'O' the silent 'E'. Falling,
                    filtering through pliable gauze.
                    Exiting into 'CONTACT!'. An unknowable
                    light source pastels the landscape
                    in Rose, Water, and a soft, warm, Grape.
                    Your movements here are deliberate,
                    and in that deliberation, laggard. (Mental
                    image of a rat swimming in
                    molasses) From the perspective of
                    great distance, a form approaches.
                    Upon sighting you move toward said
                    object. Desire. Encyclopedic
                    glimpses of desirous objects. Red
                    pillowy lips,{whispering}, Supra supple
                    flesh, {rewarding}, pleasant
                    surprises, comfort. You notice your heartbeat
                    pounding with excitement.
                    Everything that has ever been is
                    yours for the taking. Twenty yards
                    away & an overpowering sense of
                    wickedness invades. A form morphs
                    into a vile cube showered in deep
                    crimson. Digging your heels into
                    the surface material, once
                    malleable now highly polished and treacherous
                    slippery, your inertia propels you
                    closer at highly mechanical speed.
                    (IMAGE FLASH- a kitten bowled
                    across a linoleum alley) Upon this
                    high speed slide you ram through
                    skyscrapers, log cabins, Japanese
                    paper walls, Hollywood plywood
                    sets, DA-DA!! To a lurching stop on
                    a studio stage. A non-descript,
                    capacity audience delivers a
                    console damaging raucous applause. You
                    reach into your tuxedo jacket
                    pocket and produce a bouquet of
                    radishes and parsnips, which
                    explode into Two million-four
                    hundred-seventy-six cotton tailed bunnies.
                    These in turn bound into the
                    audience & proceed to copulate at fantastic
                    rates. Rabbits fuck & breed,...
                    fuck & breed,... before exploding
                    into prismatic mirrored confetti.
                    Most of the newly conceived embryonic
                    bunnies, due to accelerated growth,
                    brought about by heavy ingestion of
                    'Modern Product'™, germinate &
                    infiltrate the ever growing
                    population of audience members.
                    About 20% are stillborn & sold as
                    snacks to hungry patrons. The cue
                    card guy sez "Sticky script!!", as
                    if you had done something wrong.
                    Your character glances towards the
                    off-stage wing space. A forgotten high
                    school crush is melting giddy
                    draped in a full length, blue &
                    green, stripped, plastic raincoat.
                    She flashes you the naked body of a
                    goat/rabbit cartoon sticking her
                    tongue through a sultry smile. In
                    an exasperated horse-ish manner,
                    you allow air to pass while
                    flapping your lips. The audience
                    lets loose a mass groan "OOOWWWWW!"
                    "O-KAYEE, debts git er goat bear,"
                    hold yer breath "ZEN!!" The roof is
                    ripped off via a stereotypical mob
                    mentality burst of applause. Five
                    clowns rush the stage and form a
                    mock doggie-style train. "Oh!-ah!-OH!!"
                    On this final thrust they implode
                    into a lovely thunderstorm of luminescent
                    dryads zipping offstage on
                    dragonfly wings. Cultured applause
                    now- fingertips to palms only. The
                    theater zooms out to blur, leaving
                    only you and the object of past
                    lust filled pubescent desire. She
                    opens the slicker with the 'CLICK!'
                    of a high-speed shutter. Erotica,
                    by Earth standards. Full breasts, throbbing
                    pink nipples, flaming red pubis,
                    smooth, milky, meaty, fleshy,
                    thigh, calf, stomach,...'CLICK!' a
                    speculation of your mother's flesh,
                    'CLICK!' your mother's actual
                    flesh, 'CLICK!' soft, tortuous
                    scales of reptile, 'CLICK!' a cartoon
                    chicken, 'CLICK!' a gangrenous
                    crack whore, 'CLICK!' your own
                    naked body 'CLICK!' Her 'actual'
                    body, the one you never explored.
                    She opens her lips "Sum Ding!" you
                    reach to touch "Ding! Ding!" your
                    hands slide into holographic shadows
                    "Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!" you
                    stumble through her back to the
                    Rose, Water, and soft warm Grape.

                              "DING!DING!DING! DING!DING!
                              DING!DING!DING! DING!DING! DING!DING!!!!"


          Day breaks flat across Metropolitan Avenue. The coastal
          plain undergoing continuous submergence/re-emerging from the
          slate gray waters of the northern Ocean. A little more land
          is lost each day. Sometime in the future there'll be no
          more. Verlo scans the sidewalks. He climbs peaks of 'MAN'S' concrete
          excuse for mountains. Verlo appears five to eight years
          younger but more cynical.

                              VERLO (V.O.)
                    Nature is a manmade hologram.
                    Everyday is more truth of the fiction.
                    More fact of absurdity brought into
                    being by some creature, disguised as
                    man. Human kind. Human shape. Human
                    style. To be only human. Upholding gender
                    & species distinctions. The
                    calcinations of the species into a fashionably
                    buff race of exaggerated body parts
                    to say sexual function.

          A billboard person smiles at Verlo from the ass end of a speeding
          bus. Verlo wears sweatpants and chuckie c's.

                         (v.o.) He didn't have to go to
                         the cube today. Thought it
                         would be nice to hang out.
                         Chill. Relax. Take in the City
                         vibrations. Maybe do that
                         chick whose been giving him
                         the eye down @ the deli. Ride
                         the trains. Wager on the dogs.
                         Or maybe just go back home. He
                         is distracted from his daily mental
                         to do list by a gaggle of
                         businesswomen thunder heels
                         clacking crosswalk towards
                         first stop on the 'L' train,
                         Queens side. A strangling
                         fistful of heavily chemical
                         scented perfume vapors punches
                         dear, sweet)Verlo in the nose from
                         across the intersection.

                              VERLO (V.O.)
                    I guess it's hard to be a woman.

          (aloud) No better than trained pigs.

                    wallowing in excuses from as far
                    back as cognitive monkeys can
                    remember. Attraction is a
                    combination of physical
                    formulations set in motion when the
                    sperm hits the ovum.

          (aloud) I'll have to write it down later.

          Verlo breathes deep- in through the nose.- holds it. A deep mouthful
          of oxygen held in the lungs out through the mouth. A pigeon
          cocks its head. A red unblinking eye focuses on Verlo's
          meditations. People filter past. People walking.

          People in cars. Cars with people inside. (Fancy pants, Dandy lads,
          Hard robotic women dressed as men...) Numbers walking
          Numbers driving Numbers flying

                    There are hills west of the Hudson.

          A human shadow approaches, stepping from the East. It stops directly
          in front of the Sun. A question from a deep bass black voice
          trembles Verlo's personal sonic space.

                    Do you have the time?

                         (still facing West)


                         (chuckling) I meant the exact
                         time but I do like your answer.
                         'DAYLIGHT!' Ha, that's good.

                    A quick backhanded generalization
                    to 'SHOO!' away the interloper. I
                    don't's after 7:30.

                    Have you ever been out there? Out

                    Not this lifetime.

                    Man, you gotta go. There's a whole
                    world out there.

          Verlo turns his head twisting his shoulder & neck to the left
          sunrise strikes his retina, silhouetting the speaker's solid
          figure. He turns to focus, once more, on the Western

                    The City is my world.

                    Yeah, but it's a world unto itself.
                    I'm talking about a whole, entire
                    other world. I was born here. I
                    just got back. That's 76 years of traveling
                    around the planet. & I don't mean
                    fly into town stay at a hotel for a
                    night or two & then back on the
                    plane for the next city. If a place was
                    nice to me, I would hang out for a
                    couple of months, years sometimes & then
                    move on when the next hill called.
                    I'm whatcha call your modern

                    Did you find what you were looking

                    Find Hell,... it's not about
                    finding. That's for shoppers. That's
                    for tourists. My gig is about
                    living as much as I can before this
                    shell gives up the ghost. Answering
                    the call of Life's mysterious
                    beauty, that's all there is to
                    find. I'm telling you, because it's
                    better you should know going into
                    it. Not like me. I was dug deep
                    into stereotypes of what kind of
                    people did what kind of things when
                    I started out, but that changes
                    quick when you're climbing those
                    hills. Life becomes a continual
                    state of re-evaluating your mental
                    processors. I'm not speaking of
                    metaphorical hills of landing a
                    job, securing a future, or
                    stockpiling money. I'm talkin'
                    'bout 'REAL HILLS'. Something you &
                    you alone have to climb. I've gotta
                    go now. I just wanted to make sure
                    you knew the time.

          Verlo whips his head & shoulder to the right

                    Wait a minute...

          Only a pigeon with a cocked head & one red eye launchs itself
          from the ground.


          Verlo steps out of a 24hr diner with backpack. Approaches intersection.
          'CORRUPT SOUTHERN TOWN' & '1985?' burns through.

          VERLO looks down at combat boots. One lace has come untied. Verlo
          kneels over to tie boot. Headlights of swerving car. Car
          smashes Verlo in the side of the face.


          Emergency room, EKG going flat line, white light, EKG back into
          normal pulse, images of Heaven, Hell, and the cosmic


          Verlo hooked into machines. Verlo being grunied around

                              MOREEN (V.O.)
                    Only six more hours. You can do it.
                    Others have waited longer for less
                    glory. Everyone involved in this
                    experiment knows of your fears regarding
                    isolation & speed with which time
                    races by/// only to lag when it finds
                    beneficial motives, such as
                    screwing your head into a plastic
                    spring. You've forgotten those now
                    that a testing has been introduced,
                    huh? That was play, I guess.. The
                    real world has freaked you back
                    into your safety net of wish- you-
                    could be anywhere else besides this
                    life at this time. I do believe in
                    your ability to overcome this
                    particular inconvenience

          Shots of Verlo in coma juxaposed with shots of Verlo in
          Dream Research Facilities.

                         (v.o.) The way they've got you
                         strapped to those machines....,
                         I wish I could do something
                         for you, I really do. Come to
                         think of it.. You've always
                         blew your own horn, haven't
                         you? 'I don't need any help! I
                         can do it myself!!' & if they
                         didn't like it, fuck 'em! I'm
                         trying to remember that one
                         thing you used to say...What
                         was that?

          Shots of Verlo hitchhiking, stealing food, at wild punk rock parties.

                                                          CUT TO:

          Verlo is a montage of being hooked up to medical wirings

                         (v.o.) I remember! 'Even if
                         it's wrong, I did it perfect!'
                         It almost sounded as if you
                         believed it. Now here you are
                         your face braced shut,
                         someone's replaced your eyes
                         with two giant horse
                         chestnuts, and they've got you
                         strapped down because if you
                         make one wrong move a blood
                         clot might rush to your brain
                         & that's all she wrote. Still
                         you refuse happiness. You're
                         happy with making your self
                         miserable. There's a lot of miserable
                         people out there already, pal.
                         You must think you're
                         different than everybody else
                         on the planet, huh? You get
                         smashed in the face, drink
                         some poison, open your veins
                         to paint red pictures on the
                         bathroom tiles. I don't think
                         that's so cool. I liked those
                         little stories you were
                         telling, when nobody else was
                         in earshot. Those were nice.
                         No pretension. Just a regular
                         old story one might tell a
                         group of children or the
                         elderly. Couldn't you just try it
                         once. For me?


          A gathering of key members of the Science League's Dream Research

                    At present the human species has
                    shown a remarkable decline in the
                    area of dreaming. Whether the
                    stresses of modern life or the mass
                    media infiltration of right brain
                    functions is beyond the scope of
                    our technology. Verlo has shown an
                    uncanny ability to produce what was
                    once thought to be 'normal human
                    electro-chemical discharge while
                    sleeping. Granted ten years ago this
                    may not have sounded so strange,
                    today it is a most bizzare

                              ELDER SCIENTIST
                    Are you willing to put forth a
                    proposal of how we may utilize this
                    'strange... bizzare' -ness?

                    It's still too early. I'm not even
                    certain of any benefits as far as
                    either the general public or
                    private sectors are concerned at
                    the present time. What I do know is
                    that whatever happens inside of the
                    time/space where Verlo is sleeping
                    sets up a 'leak-effect' on this
                    material plane of existence.

                              IT SCIENTIST
                    Is there a possibility of designing
                    a particular outcome to further our
                    agenda or distributing to our
                    expanding consumer base?


                    Initally I believed there could be
                    some form of packaging and distribution
                    but as the research continues... I
                    just don't know. Verlo's mind is
                    somewhere off the register. Though
                    not a thoroughly text book case he
                    seems to be comprised of every
                    mental illness ever researched
                    within variance of degrees. His
                    left and right brain functions
                    interact in such a rapid fashion he should
                    be considered by all accounts a
                    deranged psychopath. That is on the physical
                    neuralogical level. His forms of
                    communication, however, are as literate
                    and philosophic as any academic at
                    the University level.

                              BIOLOGY DEPARTMENT DOCTOR
                    How much of this is due to the
                    traumatic concussion?

          Kartog Points to the center screen display of skull X-Ray
          and radiographic images of the brain

                    The point of impact occurred on the
                    left side of the patient's head. As
                    you can see there seems to be no
                    detrimental signals at present. The
                    head trauma occurred fifteen years
                    ago. By all accounts Verlo should
                    still have a little trouble tying
                    his shoe. There was neither rehabilitation
                    nor therapy. After spending three
                    months in a coma Verlo woke up one
                    morning and walked out of the
                    hospital. If I may direct your
                    attention to the left eye. You may
                    notice a small circle in this area.

                              BIOLOGY DEPARTMENT DOCTOR
                    A bone screw?

                    Looks like one... but the truth
                    is... someone has stapled a micro
                    transponder to his cheek bone. The
                    thing that puzzles me is... who
                    would spend the technology and why
                    they would want to keep track of


          General hub-bub of mid-day

          MIDDLE AGED WEST COAST SHOPPER LADY is clutching shopping bags
          & mortgages on a newly refurbished Pioneer Square condo. She
          is walking along with HER PARTNER (a dyke-ish bleach blonde)

                              MIDDLE AGED WEST COAST SHOPPER LADY
                    Oh MY GAWD! Right here underneath
                    the sidewalks? I refuse to believe
                    that. It's too incredible!

                              HER PARTNER
                    Your going to have to believe me on
                    this one, Dear, got it straight
                    from the horse's mouth. Guy's been
                    over to Europe, knows all about the big
                    K-Y jelly Matisse thing, sez to me
                    that these people over @
                    are setting up this wingnut
                    website. He was reading a new 'Made
                    for the Screen' manuscript, when he
                    overhears these voices floating

                                                          X FADE:

          Burn through with docu-vid-reality


          In a weekly studio apartment (SF) a MAN and a WOMAN are sitting
          at a wooden table. Each has a cup of wine. On the table is a
          bowl of olives. This is a setting of complete candor. The
          light is entering from two windows looking into the alley.
          The apartment is 'not-too-shabby'.

                              INTERNATIONAL WOMAN
                    I have had this same conversation
                    with you... I don't know...I
                    feel... you know... déj  vu? It was
                    maybe... a dream. And you said
                    'This is how dreams overlap
                    reality.' I think it was a dream

                              AMERICAN MAN
                    Yes! It was a dream. I was there
                    because it was my own dream. I said
                    to you, inside of my dream, while
                    we were sitting here JUST LIKE
                    THIS... I said to you 'this is how
                    dreams overlap reality.' In this
                    room. At this very same time while
                    we were sitting here in the past,
                    present and future. It was THEN
                    that you told me that you felt we
                    had this conversation before. Now
                    you are telling me that you had a
                    dream... the same dream... that I
                    was having and we are both
                    remembering this sameness somewhere
                    in a future dream?

                              INTERNATIONAL WOMAN
                    I knew you were gpoing to say that.
                    My God... this is really happening
                    right now, isn't it?

                              AMERICAN MAN
                    It's meant for someone/something WE
                    don't know. Not one of us lousy
                    monkeys know who we're working for.
                    WE who are so far removed, we
                    become wires to the Universe.
                    Telemetry pounding out something so
                    very far beyond electronic data,
                    you'd have to hit every fuckin'
                    plane of existence @ once just to
                    half assed grasp the dialect.

                              INTERNATIONAL WOMAN
                    Any way, the dream I was telling
                    you about before... the dreams of
                    the missles and the actors on the
                    beach. There was a woman who came and
                    put a big dog shit in a garbage can
                    when I was brushing my teeth. Then
                    I went to the theater but it wasn't
                    a real theater. It was just like

                              AMERICAN MAN
                    It's not about reason. Reason is
                    the 'dot-to-dot' helping chicken
                    hearted lizards understand majicks
                    not of this pre-fabbed realm. There are
                    some THINGS we can't know of in the
                    flesh. Which is why, 'Know-It-Alls' need
                    to process everything that chips
                    away @ their 4 walled reality
                    through very EARTH-based info
                    filters before they will
                    accept/or/deny anything non-scientifically
                    notated. Artists & various other
                    psychotics, don't deal on that
                    plane. That's the end of the
                    mystery. IT just IS.

          EXT- On the sidewalk- day

          Still clutching shopping bags & mortgages, yet now more desperately.

                              MIDDLE AGED WEST COAST SHOPPER LADY
                    OHMYGAWD! What does it mean?!

                              HER PARTNER
                    These people are 'off-the-wall' &
                    in order for common, decent,
                    civilized people to understand
                    them, we, ourselves would have to
                    be 'off-the-wall'.

                              MIDDLE AGED WEST COAST SHOPPER LADY
                    No thank you!

          They enter a dimly lit parking garage. Walking towards the autobox,
          a higher amount of care is enacted to sidestep the shadows,
          to avoid anything which might dwell there.

          Ext- East bound Highway 10- Day- Sun rises over cactus.
          Verlo hitchiking with backpack, cardboard magic marker sign
          -'Tejas' -, & a canteen. Pick-up, driven by SW business
          suited TOM MORROW, passes. Tom does a double take before
          studying Verlo in the rearview. Tom contemplates Verlo while driving
          on. Verlo hikes.

                         (v.o.) What kind of
                         information, if any,... do we
                         have on this character?

                    We know where he was born... Where
                    he went to school...

                    I'm not making myself clear. When
                    did all this begin?

          Sun in VERLO's face. A look of supremely religious awe. Flashing
          images of exotic female faces (25-50) , intermitten with
          drops of sweat reflecting the rising sun.

          INT- Tom's truck finally pulls over- day Tom looks over his left
          shoulder. Exhales deeply. Tom turns the truck into the
          opposite lane EXT- VERLO on his knees on the shoulder- day
          VERLO is now crying while holding his cardboard sign over
          his head. A ploaroid roll-a-dex of naked women is running throught
          his head. The cardboard -'TEJAS'- sign is shaking. A van
          speeds up to screech dust clouds in stopping an inch from
          touching the sign. Driver -SPEEDFREAK- jumps out. Walks
          banged up cowboy boots to Verlo.

                    You lookin' fer a ride, er what?

          EXT- Tom's truck passes Speedfreak's van on long stretch of US
          I-10- day

                                                          CUT TO:

          INT- SPEEDFREAK's van- int A wide assortment of tools for making
          velvet painting, velvet paintings, and crappy truckstop
          brick-a-brak tossed haphazrdly behind the front seats.
          Hula-girls & virgins on the dashboard. SPEEDFREAK listens to
          a heavy metal station while eyeing VERLO with quick, freaky
          suspicion. VERLO darts eyes from dashboard icons to

                    You weird, er wat?

          Verlo stares straight ahead past the highway.

                    I am part of the Universe. I am a
                    part of this road.

                         (fairly freaking out) Whoa,
                         man! I don't want no freaky
                         shit happenin' here. I'll pull
                         this van right the fuck over.
                         (beat) You party, man? I ain't
                         no faggit... but if you wanna
                         take a little hit, we kin take
                         a little hit. You fuck up &
                         that's on you, buddy. Lookee

          Speedfreak dangles a large baggie containing fat buds of day-glo
          green marijuna.

          This shit grows 'round the new-clear missile base, inside that
          little bowl of mountains. We kin go up there 'n git it when
          there ain't nobody lookin'. You ain't 'Big Brother', are ya?
          'Cause we don't need none of that freaky shit niether. Here,
          Here! Roll us up one of them now. Sittin' on yer ass getting
          a free ride. Ain't nobody rides fer free, man. You know what
          ah mean? You know what ah mean? I'll git ya ta Tucson but no
          freaky shit, ya hear?

          Ext- ROLLIN' LIKE A STONE- day Van rolls. Heavy metal. Van swerves
          every now and then.

          Int- heavy metal SPEEDFREAK talk- day

          Very loud music. Verlo rolls joint after joint. Speedfreak talking
          very animately (pointing/ laughing/ screaming) Verlo's eye
          catches a glint of sun reflected off a chrome 'PETERBILT
          WOMAN' on a mudflap.

                         (v.o.) I am part of this
                         Universe. I am a part of

          Tight into the 'PETERBILT WOMAN' The Universe swirls in her reflection.
          Inside the reflection> Galactic storms, cosmic rainbows, supernovas,ringed
          planets, comets, spacecraft, satellites, blue electrical bolts,
          & orange flames

                         (v.o.) You are part of this
                         Universe. You are this road.


                              DREAM IMAGE 2- BRUMAL
                    Suck deep greed of sleep. Inhale
                    foamy draughts. Snake spine uncoils.
                    Muscle gives up soul. Velvet
                    darkness spiraling into opulent
                    lull. YOU AWAKE! Under X-RAY
                    equipage. JZSHZSHZSH...! A robotic
                    arm scans the length of your body.
                    A goateed doctor holds up a
                    ballpoint pen emblazoned with the
                    image of a naked(BOMBSHELL)woman,
                    -{Betty Boop stag party style}-. He
                    turns the pen upside down. Her
                    curvaceous flesh slides away
                    reveling a female skeletal anatomy.

                    whistles the gap-toothed doctor,
                    rolling his eyes [SNAKEEYES!!]
                    "You're free to go. Ta-ta!" "BUT
                    DOCTOR!!" you ejaculate pulling closed
                    your blood soaked hospital gown
                    "What about....... Little
                    Jimmy?!?!" Neon green word bubbles
                    erupt 'Whip Him Soundly And Send
                    Him To Bed'

          Walking on rain slicked street. Shudder shoulder to punch of impending
          winter wind. Close eyes, yet still cold. A billboard erupts
          through the horizontal plane. A cubic rectangle of
          immeasurable proportions.

          'Where Will You Stay When Winter Arrives?'

          Arctic blue furies prelude a blizzard of chrome. An inescapable
          scent of ash. Embryonic fetuses erupt from a chrome crusted
          blanket of snow. And they grow. They grow to lightning
          maturation within the time/space of a breath, they decompose
          into husks, then to ash. You are now the only living
          creature in your dream. A trumpeted fanfare heralds the
          swooping arrival of twelve winged demons. your voice blasts
          for no apparent reason. "At least I can dream now!!"
          Laughing, full of joy, you rip off layer upon layer of garment.
          Now you are naked, in the snow, laughing uproariously. The
          demons flock to the discarded articles of clothing. "Tsk,
          tsk, tsk." they chitter disapprovingly. Shaking out many
          layers of underwear, shirts and pants they clean, fold,&
          hang up your mess. When did this begin? This is the... this...
          is the... the beginning.

          Int- Science League's Sleep Research Facility- day

          Kartog sits across a table from Verlo. Kartog is shifting through
          papers. She pulls off her glasses and looks into Verlo's

                    Can you tell me when this started?

                         (deeply into KARTOG's eyes) My
                         head was this planet -BURNING-
                         My torso was dead -BULLET
                         HOLES, ya know? CLEAN!!!! From
                         this whoredom ending another
                         cor-pirate work week My legs
                         are unstable on this early sunrise
                         sidewalk- PAVED- religion
                         running splattered blood again
                         to escape another... Dream of
                         triple fives i woke from death
                         shaking wonderful life between
                         pages of synaptic continuity
                         with questions just like a
                         machine to fantasy; to off to
                         places {where only plastic is
                         beautiful enough to shake rust tears
                         pulling at electrode cornered
                         eyes} -Those bastards are
                         trying to kill me.- i said
                         stare into my eyes, doktor
                         haunting rearview mirrors 15
                         cars pile twisting up on an
                         overpass called: Anywhere
                         maybe i will wake up again to
                         live a life i know i could
                         find but only to dream
                         distorted enough harmonious existence
                         @ my own modern tyme.

                    I take it you're not going to make
                    this easy, are you?

          Ext- City street p.o.v. behind the guy in the rumpled sharkskin
          sportscoat- night

          SHARKSKIN MAN stands on the corner with a cardboard sign... with
          greasy ballcap held at waist level. A little girl, AMERIKA
          the GIRL, smiling approaches with her parents out for the
          day in the City. As she spots SHARKSKIN MAN she casts her
          eyes downwards to avoid the vision of the spectacle. She
          clutches her mother's hand tightly with a guilty little girl smile.
          Close of SHARKSKIN MAN's weathered blue eye reflecting
          little girl nervously turning her head to wave a slow motion
          'secret' meloncholy wave. SHARKSKIN MAN's eye reflects urban
          sunset. A beautiful hearse rolls into the sunset.

          ext- sundown hearse ride- night

          Reflections of streetlife are seen through the sidepanels of hearse
          (new Cadillac) Sidewalk a capella group sound -'Boom, Boom,
          Boom, Boom... gonna shoot you right down'- street life is
          one giant god damned R. Crumb cartoon.

          Int- MAX SHARP REMOVER- night int. hearse sound changing
          from wild jazz (cirrca 40's-50's) to classic rock

                              MAX SHARP
                    Know your problem. That is the
                    whole of the truth. Are you listening
                    to me? Am I coming off to
                    moralistic for you? Can you hear
                    me? Know your problem? You don't
                    know WHO your enemies are. Fer
                    chrissake, look at you! What are
                    you? 20? 24? Gaa! You haven't got a
                    care in the world. Listen to me. Just
                    shut up and listen to me for once
                    in your life. You're doing it to yourself.
                    Ah-ha... Ah-ha... see? Can you hear
                    me or are you too busy listening to
                    that lousy little voice skippin'
                    like a broken fuckin' record... IN
                    YOUR HEAD. Hello?! You're doin' it
                    to yourself.

                         (confused) (beat) But...

                              MAX SHARP
                    No! No 'buts' about it. Just shut
                    up and listen to someone else for a
                    change. You need a job. With a job
                    comes discipline and respect. Do you
                    understand anything I'm sayin',
                    ovah heah? With discipline and
                    respect comes all the good things
                    in life. A wife (for starters),
                    some kids (that's your progeny
                    factor), and then you can buy all
                    the toys you want. Waddaya wanna die
                    without any toys? First things
                    first... get a freakin' job. I've
                    got many friends who have many
                    opening in VERY lucrative
                    buisnesses in this town. You need
                    cash? You wanna work? Get a fuckin'
                    job. I can get you a job. Smart guy like
                    you,... 'n I don't want nothin' out
                    of it. Jesus! You don't know how
                    lucky you are, do ya? Tha guy back
                    there in that sharkskin jacket
                    would be comin all over himself...
                    but YOU... you're sittin' here...
                    ridin' 'round in my hearse; on my
                    dime... cool as a cantalope...
                    without a care in the world...
                    ain't got a pot to piss in or a
                    window to throw it out...

                         (pointing) It's the next
                         corner to the left.


                              MAX SHARP
                         (disbelieving chuckle) & to
                         you this is all part of an
                         incredibly long hitchiking
                         coma dream. (whistles) All
                         fuel for your fire, right?
                         Well,... the free rides are
                         drawing to a close, pally. Ya
                         gotta shape up or ship out.
                         (MAX makes the left and stops
                         the curb) This isn't over. I
                         want you to think about what
                         I've said here. D'ya hear me?
                         I want you to think about it.
                         (offering a simple buisness
                         card - Max Sharp- Removals)
                         Next time I see you, I don't
                         wanna hear no bitchin' 'n
                         whinin' about the sorry state
                         of society or headspins or any
                         kinds of intrigues involving
                         anything other than butt ass naked
                         babes rolling around in a pool
                         of buttery orange lizards.


                         (putting on sunglasses and
                         opening door) Yeah, o.k., thanks
                         for the lift.


                              MAX SHARP
                    Hey! Don't forget what I said. Get
                    outta your head... shut up and
                    listen to someone else for a
                    change... and get a fuckin' job...
                    before I step outta this hearse and
                    kick your ass, you little freak!

                                                          CUT TO:

          Ext- out on the street through window of hearse- night

                         (finger to lips) Max,
                         Shhhhhh... I brought you into this
                         world and I can remove you
                         just as easily.

          Ext- outside the Theater- night

          The hearse disappears. Verlo standing in a high velocity sea of
          taxicabs. He steps up on the curb. Theater is non-descript
          looking brick walled joint with one orange neon sign jutting
          towards the street -TEATRO-


          Tom Morrow's Apocalyptic FreakShow circus- An orgy of sound and
          color, shape and movement in the middle of the desert.

          EXT- Tales to bonfire freaks- night

                              TOM MORROW

          Gabrianna, the pasty pus filled tapioca complexioned hooker, lived
          not too far away on Palm tree Blvd, this boulevarde was a
          ridiculous attempt to sooth the So-Cal homesick blues. She
          lived with a mélange of whores, all equal in their
          conniving. An elder whore would walk the streets outside
          their flop home spitting with disgust - Ya know what their
          problem is ? (pointing towards the children towards the turn
          of the century) They think their so fuckin' cute, that's
          what!- So we would laugh so hard we almost soiled our
          trousers. In those days, all the hookers would stay @ home
          or @ least behind designer sunglasses if they did decide to
          brave the noise of modern street level. YES! It was rare to
          find a young meta-physician wandering the wastelands even in
          those days. Those old forms didn't work any more, my sweethearts.
          There's no room for the milk of human kindness, if you see
          where I'm going with this. Driving back across town, from
          the stripmall, a couple noticed a kid hitchhiking from the
          movie theater. Alfred and his wife (Barbra) cut me off in
          their family sedan and so I was forced to sit in this
          taxicab and elucidate to the cab driver my version of what
          may be being (Oh, I like that!) discussed by Barbie and
          Freddy. Barbara [by birth, Barbie to Freddy], sez she thinks
          he should put some sunblock on if he's gonna stand out in
          the desert hitchhiking, in the middle of August.

          "You've heard what they've been saying about the heavy UV rays
          & the thin atmosphere. That boy could end up deeply scarred
          for life. Freddy, let us give him a ride. @ least to the
          next truckstop."

          "You see what you're asking me to do here, Barbie? You want me
          to go against my #1 rule for YOUR safety. Don't pick up
          hitchhikers. PERIOD. I go against the rule & then it doesn't
          mean anything anymore. If I didn't marry you in a Catholic
          church I would swear you were Gnostic. Let him get a job if
          he wants a ride. For all we know he's a terrorist of some

          After I explained my version to my chauffer he offered this finely
          crafted verse... simply titled DreamHiking...

                              THE HIKER HIKES THE DREAMER DREAMS NEVER
                              BETWEEN THE TWO SHALL BE MAN OF WEALTH
                              NOT CUNNING MONKEY
                    Nor Performing Ponies In

                              A T
                    V's FuckShitUp & WHOLLY HOLEY

          The assorted freaks laugh and scream and protest and dance around
          the campfire underneath the stars.


                              CLOSE ON THE FACE OF VERLO


          Frankenstien never made a monster like me. Not that my brutish
          looks would lead to any contrary speculation.

          Though, it is true I was raised by monsters and two-legged wolves.
          Transylvania was not to be my spawning ground.

          It was another planet entirely. A planet called Amerika.


          NOW VACANT PAVEMENT OF AFTERTIME. A busted television shows


                              COCKY WAITRON
                         (Chirping in a light hearted
                         manner) The ketchups as red as

                         (v.o. while ordering food) A
                         friendly grimace washes over
                         my faceplate, even as thoughts
                         of dissection and a faint
                         smirk caress my brain. My
                         X-Ray vision totally
                         eliminates the usefulness of
                         security clothing. You can't
                         hide the flesh from the mind.
                         Staring between the long,
                         wooden legs, through the maw
                         of it's gaping, glass hole...
                         I feel safe and snug in this concrete
                         womb. This greasy spoon. My
                         eyes fondle the regional flora
                         of this monsterous and
                         pre-social land.

          [A GIANT SIGN- 1950's Cartoon Style]

                              GIANT CACTUS! GET YER 'GIANT CACTUS'
                              POOL RAFTS™, WHILE THEY LAST, KIDZ!

                         (v.o. staring at young and old

          Let me show you my tongue. How very sleek and mobile it is. It's
          the cutest shade of tobacco yellow. No sunburn at all. Not
          much exposure. Even less exercise. 'Why?'... 'Why?!' Is that
          surprise I hear cascading from betwixt your bonefarm? Do not
          patronize me, Satan. I spied your guise from the moment of
          conception.With a crackling sizzle I discerned your chuckle.

                              COCKY WAITRON
                    More tea, sugar?

                    No sugar. Just tea.



          The porcelain and ceramic beckon ever near. Burst the main
          so the silver may tinkle and clash. While the liquid
          continues to flow seemingly unrehearsed art.


          Verlo walks to the taxicab. Pulls keys out of his jeans. Opens
          the door.


          Verlo starts the car. Turns on the MDT. INT glows red, blue, and
          green. Punches a couple of buttons. Drives away.

                              VERLO (V.O. WHILE CRUSING THROUGH RED
                              LIGHT DISTRICT)
                    I find myself scouring the City
                    with advanced technology. Invading
                    every private space the mind of man
                    has crafted. Toying with fantasy for
                    the sake of remaining engulfed in
                         (screams of trapped animal)
                         Yet, all the while to simply
                         exist in a timeframe crafted
                         of 100% speculation.

          EXT- ALONE- NIGHT

          Verlo wandering an incredibly impossible labyrinthic red-bricked
          alley with alcoves dedicated to every human vice and
          perversion ever dreamed while scribbling in a notepad


          A different level of communication exists here. A smile
          could be a 'fuck-all' of the most dangerous type. When you
          take all the possibilities into consideration... an old man
          on the corner; a young girl in the alley... no difference at
          all. Not at all.

          They hang out in tribes, hiding from the sun. The Fringe Dwellers.
          The Locust Children. The Nocturnalis. The Love Babies.
          Creatures crawl from every crevice devised from human

          Dancing to a never forgotten primal beat with a hint of ever expanding
          alien intervention. The night air is filled with squawking
          and chirping.

          We all try to regain the soul hidden from the eye of televised
          life. The mind runs rampant through a maze of social
          interaction... and always the cactus to reconfirm beliefs of
          a once upon a time.

          A very heroic time where wrong were righted and vice


          Verlo enters. Shows ID to door people. Finda a hiding spot
          to watch from. Pulls out a micro-cassette, a notepad, and a
          collection of pens.

                         (into the micro-cassette)

          I explore the outer realms. Outside my own mind. Outside
          this damnable wiegh station of existence. Insects circle
          ever near to learn the secrets hidden behind my eyes.

                              VERY HOT YOUNG THING
                         (probably a poetess) Waddaya

                    Expressing repulsion

                              VERY HOT YOUNG THING
                    Waddaya writin'?

                    A picture of sickness.

                              VERY HOT YOUNG THING
                    Is it pretty or... sexy?

                    Ma'am! Keep your mind away from me,
                    please. I am lycanthropic and will
                    gnaw your flesh from the bone. I
                    will rip and rend in a manner most horrific
                    until all that is left is a
                    hardened corn kernel of what your
                    soul used to be. Do not remain in
                    this gingerbread house too long, my
                    dear. I have recorded evidence
                    which shall qualify my strange
                    meanderings. My soul is a bus station
                    photo booth dedicated to the
                    remembrance of purity and
                    innocence. Those which were ravaged
                    on a mental plane beyond words.
                    Still do I watch... Still do I
                    paint with words stark an...

                              VERY HOT YOUNG THING
                    Hey! Waitaminit! I did not ask for
                    this. I did not order the 'Blue
                    Plate Depression Special'. I would
                    have fucked you had your mental landscape
                    of repugnant filth not repulsed me
                    to a point of melancholy. You, sir,
                    are of no use to me nor any other
                    living creature. I would kill you
                    but I play by the rules of
                    conformity and structure. Good-Bye.
                         (beat) Freak.

                         (Screaming from the top of the

                              WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!? MY LOVE?!
                              MY SOUL?!

          (to himself) But, then again, (beat) What would I lose? My soul
          is insectoid! EAT,KILL, & FUCK! (Addressing the very hot,
          young thing who is more than likely a poetess) I DO NOT ASK
          NOT BEG YOU TO RELISH MY NEON RAGES... Only neophiles flirt
          Sticks his face under a beer tap and takes a long pull) LAST

          Bar patrons applaud with drunken enthusiasm as VERY HOT
          YOUNG THING rushes out the door.


          Kartog looks over the shoulder of the Intern. The are watching
          various video monitors of Verlo sleeping.

          Something has happened. I noticed a strange power surge, on the
          EKG at the beginning of my shift. I recorded that surge in
          my log. Next thing I knew, I found myself pulling the Ace of
          Spades in a game of solitaire I was involved in on the
          system. This entire strangeness hinges on two facts. A)- I
          don't play solitaire and B)- there is no software for the
          game of solitaire loaded on any of Science League's

          What happened directly after you noticed the EKG surge?

          I feel as though there was a temporal displacement, Doctor. What
          was it? Ten minutes?

          I would like you to write a private report for me of everything
          you just told me. It stays between us though. I nee to make
          certain that this information falls into the 'right' hands.
          Take the rest of the night off. Write the report and
          personally deliever it to me tommorrow by three o'clock.


          Verlo is hooked up to the Sleep Research machines. Kartog &
          Intern are talking in a glass partitioned control booth.

          (v.o.) When did this start? The very first dream of humanity lying
          around a bonfire in the stariest night ever imagined...
          Through the deepest mid-wynter sleep with dancing flame
          shadows glistening of the crystal quartz... The dreams come
          when they are needed, as do the dreamers.

          Verlo enters the dimension of dreaming being spit onto the plane
          wrapped within a bag of fluid. The bag bursts. Verlo (his
          physical being) is composed of nerve endings and arteries
          only. He walks to a 'closet' and dons a suit of flesh.

          Verlo walking towards an unseen point upon an infinite flat and
          desolate plane. This is illumined via constant, perfect
          florescent. Shadows and sound from the horizon leak through.
          Verlo notices a great amount of movement on the horizon but,
          everything is somehow murkily indiscernable. Verlo notices a
          serpentine pattern of movement approaching. He focuses on
          this movement. The serpentine pattern draws closer. Verlo
          squints confufusion. As the serpentine movement draws nearer
          it assumes the shape of a mutant canine, finally stopping
          directly in front of Verlo's position. This 'dog' is a large headed,
          smooth-skinned freak of nature. It whips out a digital,
          pixelized tongue of pythonic proportions, lasso-ing in the
          air overhead. It shakes its ass as happy dogs are known to
          do. Its ass is the newborn flesh of a human child. It
          completes these motions by planting it's front paws (which
          are well formed miniature, body-building forearms)on top of
          the 'ground'. It sits there waiting for something.

          (internal voice) What the hell is this?
          FREAK DOG

          (external voice) I'm Invincible.

          The surface of the dream plane in a diameter of ten feet begins
          to spin. Verlo stabilizes himself. The solid disk levitates
          while spinning. The disk rises into the blackness of
          nothing. Around the disk colored points of light 'BWOP!'
          into existence. Three lights (red, blue, & green) begin to
          circle the disk at ever increasing velocity.

          (internal voice with a snarl towards the FREAK DOG) This is your
          doing isn't it?
          FREAK DOG

          (smiling and panting, obviously happy, external voice)

          The circle of spinning lights has now turned into a high
          wall of white luminance. A mischevious dryad, an erotic
          witch, a mermaid priestess, and a queenly prostitute, all
          approach from the wall of light. Freak Dog seems oblivious.
          Verlo panics in search of a hiding place.

          Oh, look... he's scared. Ha-ha-ha...

          Maybe he doesn't want us here.

          The mermaid slides up to VERLO. Grabs him by the jaw and the back
          of the neck. She whisper chants in his ear.


          The erotic witch dances around raising pillars of fire and groaning
          a supreme orgasm.

          The little dog laughed To see such a sport... (record skip) the
          little dog laughed to see such a sport (record skip) ect...

          We are your brides who won't be silenced through the darkest night
          of your soul or the most consuming joy... Your dreams Our

          Prostitute and Dryad both approach. Both kiss one ear. Mermaid
          and Witch slap either side of Verlo's face. Prostitute and
          Dryad both rip off one ear each. Mermaid and Witch both
          begin to make love to Verlo. Freak Dog is looking into
          Verlo's eyes and panting. The dream fades.
          FADE IN:

          EXT- ALONG A HIGHWAY- DAY (1966)

          Shadowman is seen, in the distance, hitching while walking along
          the highway. His thumb is slung low at the hip. He carries a
          pack across his right shoulder.

          (singing) Well... Next time I'm travelin' In style F.M. 67
          Is only one mile Next Time I'm travelin' in style F.M. 67
          Gonna be here in a while Got my thumb out My knees they bend
          backwards Got my hat on So I don't catch No sun fever But...
          Next time I'm travelin' in style F.M. 67 It's only one
          FADE IN:


          Husks of fiberglass are flamining in an overgrown asphalt garden.
          Tom Morrow and his apocalyptic desert freak show are
          TOM MORROW

          (more than a couple sheets to the wind) He never did
          anything right. His entire life has been spent tripping
          through curtains and situations considered abnormal by the
          mass structure of society. His mother had to say about him,
          at a very young age 'You always step into shit and come out
          smelling like roses.' His youth was a steaming dungheap,
          which he stepped out of when the stench became unbearable
          enough. Taxis, bars, poetry venues... this is the sewage he
          traded for the bilge pool he was born into. Liar, thief,
          cynic were the labels indelibly etched upon conception.
          Although he conducted his life dance in the haughty manner
          of displaced nobility, the bastard mark of Cain was upon him
          so people shivered when he came close. He tried lying to
          himself [that thing about all men being created equal, those
          which god has ordained let no man rend asunder] but usually
          refuted himself in the end, spending all of both his time
          and money to wallow in self professed superiority, while
          damning all structure. This crazy monkey had a weird vision
          which lead him to believe, if he could hang in there a
          little longer, he would be able to manifest himself as the
          image he believed to be the truth, within his soul. Here and
          there through his travels, his life dance, there came
          increments where the Universe smiled. These are where he
          formulated his concepts of truth and spiritualism. He shouted
          to no one in particular. This he did whenever moonbeams
          bounced off water, neon beaconed through the night, rats ran
          through abandoned buildings, or beautiful, sad faces were
          streaming with tears.

          MS. SERENA (pre-op T.V.) What are you talking about, man? Literary
          fiction of a philosophical bent? How much green is that
          worth? Is it fire? That's the commodity. Especially here &
          now. No, more fish or crabs for you, psychomeat! You just
          sit there & keep spilling that funny 'HA-HA' & maybe, maybe,
          maybe, MAYBE we won't charge you anymore than we do normally.
          Hell, we'd tax the pigeons if we could squeeze a nickel
          outta those flying rats!
          TOM MORROW

          It's gotta be worth something to somebody. How about a sunrise?
          How about a sunset? Is your's Paradise? Can you scare the
          shit outta US? That's what we need! Some way to pimp your
          ass out so we can squeeze the lifeblood outta these
          miserable meatbag bastards. Then we'll pull out our squeegee
          & make it all clean. Get some of the boys in the chemical
          dept. To cook us up some concoctions to make everybody think
          that this shit will wash off of 'em easier than those
          tattoos yer sportin' over there. Ya see, son, yer working
          under, what we in the business call,... the 'old double
          whammy'. Yer damned if you do & yer damned if you don't.
          Some days you think your so close you can almost smell it
          lying on your tongue, next thing you know, some piss ant
          from the other side of the food chain, snitches to his
          superiors that you may have some traumatic mental
          disfunctions, so you don't save the world, ya don't get the
          girl, couldn't even get a kick to the ass if you paid for
          it. Cruel pranks. That's what I call it. Yeah, sure I've got
          my own reasons for wanting to help you out, but I won't
          speak too loudly about them. Suffice to say, there's a
          couple power brokers in this Universe that could use a
          little whoop ass. & besides, I like the style. I believe
          forces have marshaled against VERLO, simply because of who
          he is. I say screw 'em! If they wanna piece of this, their
          more than welcomed to it. And I'm not the only Defense barrister
          on the Cosmic Council who feels this way. Don't think we're
          alone out here. We're being watched EVERY single moment. So
          kidz,... before you get out there, rippin' the holy hell
          outta everything that eats, shits, or fucks... even though
          you are locust children born on the edge of the world during
          mobius twilight... DO WHATCHA WANNA DO... BUT! TAKE CREDITS
          FOR YOUR OWN WORKS OF ART and don't get caught stealin' it
          if it ain't worth two pieces of paper and a wet turd. This
          concludes this tranzmission. Big barbeque tommorrow at
          Cactus Jack's Peyote Ranch. pleae remember to bring your own
          personal lubricants..................... to the
          NIGHT!ight..., ight..., ight..., ect & etc.

          EXT- TERMINAL CITY RUNWAY- NIGHT Verlo is wandering @ the foot
          of Terminal City's runway... Giant metal birds are roaring
          overhead, one following the other so closely, almost too
          closely, like thorzined elephants holding each others tail
          with their trunk [RRRZZZZMMMSHHHShhhhshh]


          (v.o) Night is night with these poor bastards pouring into Terminal
          City praying to Saint Freak-o Spend-o Apathetic-o The
          following sound montage to capture a hyper-frantic
          International ambiance found in busy airports.
          [RRRZZZZMMMSHHHShhhhshh] [tune of a rancher's mission
          statement 'Scalp 'em... Count 'em... brand 'em & cut 'em
          lose!] [RRRZZZZMMMSHHHShhhhshh] [¡Aye-essio! ¡ OLÈ !] Verlo
          is staring at his own reflection in busy airport mirrored

          (v.o.) it's a parade! Yeahhhh YEA! dirty fuck stains running through
          to avoid the eyes of stories they would never believe unless
          televised or movie critics put their thumbs up... CUT TO:


          Verlo standing on the edge of the runway VERLO ...maybe NOT EVERYBODY
          is cut from the same lame golden pattern or the decrepit
          garbage bag pattern or the blue jeaned bull dagger pattern
          or the huMAN warehouse pattern (sound- airplane jets)
          [RRRZZZZMMMSHHHShhhhshh] static transmission with a nighthawk
          flying parallel to a jet and digitally scanning the
          landscape surrounding the airport. The nighthawk finally
          passes over VERLO and shits on his shoulder.

          (v.o.) (RECORDING with a micro-cassette the following story as
          it is happening) ...massive metal birds are flying parallel
          & directly east of the Terminal City Train line, which is,
          subsequently, also east of the North bound freeway... which
          doesn't help me very much, as i am looking for East or maybe
          South bound. i run into a pizza parlor connected to a neon
          red bowling alley called Alteca Bowl @ the intersection
          of... Now get this... TONGUE & LICK... i laugh with the
          signpost which is bored and staring up from the concrete...
          the pizza parlor is also a Cajun food restaurant... they've
          got crawdad file gumbo jambalaya... all writ up good &
          proper on some cardboard with magic markers... all the
          prices laid out right there, everybody can see 'em... i ask
          the Ethiopian brother "Excuse me. Do you know if there's a
          truckstop around here?" "Oh,... I'm not sure." He then
          beckons to the cat i suppose owns the joint & this cat has
          glassy eyes of goldfish bowls that haven't been cleaned
          since you bought the goldfish ((they never make head-on
          contact with you)) but he seems a very pleasant, helpful
          character who sez to me "Ya gotta go out there... @ the edge
          of town... you remember that big ol'...? they usta have all
          those truckstops out there... Now there's just that one."
          "Is there a bus i can take out there?" he looks @ me for a
          moment to see if i'm pulling his leg or what. Everybody out
          here knows..."Ya got take the 66 out there." "Where would i
          catch this bus?" "You go down by the Jack-In-the-Crack & the
          Amerikan Fried Chicken then take a right when you get to the
          Taco Bowl..." " i appreciate your help. One more
          question..." he seems into laying knowledge down to the
          wayward traveler so i decide to extract one more piece of
          info "How much do these buses cost?" SHOCK! now to stare directly
          into my eyes "They're a dollar! Where you from?" "i just
          left Terminal City on my way out to Tejas." "You should head
          toward the airport then." "'i just left Terminal City'..
          that means i ain't got anymore money." "I heard that! You be
          careful out there, young man." i assured him i would do my
          best, bid everyone in the shack an au revoir & started my
          seeking out the truckstop portion of this road-show....


          Black space of theatrical design. Various moving lights, lines,
          shapes, and patterns. Feels infinite and eternal.

          (Intermitten v.o. and 'talk show' imagery)

          The trail of events leading up to this point in time,space &
          reality were all orchestrated through my will. Do not levy
          the esposal of these events onto my charge, the author. I
          reitterate, I , am the maestro, into these far reaching
          image banks. The writer merely transmitted these for your edification.
          WHY? Why? You ask. One hand washes the other. A different
          point along the continuim, I happened upon a rare partical
          of a soul. So disenfranchised was this spirit, from both the
          LIGHT & DARK, I took an immediate interest. So did I query

          -Why do you niether combine w/ spirits of creation or revel among
          those of destruction?-

          This spirit fired back, upon me, w/ an intonation to rend asunder
          the very fabric of mortality.

          SPIRIT of VERLO Both are equal and hold no mystery. Both are identical
          boring me to a point of solidified waste. CHAOS I was taken
          aback. Such an emblazoned upstart, reminded me of myself, a
          few million years ago. Again did I question, for the first

          -What of purpose, old man? To what means & end will your remedy
          manifest itself?-

          Through well choreographed conversation I found that this being
          traversed the neither regions, redirecting souls away from
          their intended paths, relieving them of sacrifical gifts
          intended to be used as toll toward higher powers. A laugh
          did well inside of me. Such scorn & hatred toward structure,
          as rare as iced water in the infernal regions. His lives had
          been loveless, therefore pity was none existant. He had
          forgotten how to cry or fear on the physical planes. So was
          my offer profered.

          -I say, young lord, mayhaps an agreement can be agreed

          SPIRIT of VERLO -Yes! I would owe you the very fiber of my existence
          for minimal wage, for exotic flesh, mayhaps some sort of
          status. In this, my meaningless death, which is just as
          worthless as the life I have just escaped, again.


          Shadowman is standing at a scenic overlook. The neon city is one
          of those built inside a bowl of mountains. After studying
          the City. Shadowman douses his fire and picks up his pack
          before beginning his descent into the neon city.

          (sings) There's some neon on the road Anda O-ver-cast SKY- Ayyyy
          The wolf 'e is a-howlin' At the embers of my fire The city
          stole my soul 'cause I believed In all it's lie Ayy-s My
          friends they are all leavin' And this flame It is my
          tri-.... Isle Don't trust the sunlight, my little love child/
          the TV's notcher frien'/ & the rules are vile/ when yoyu get
          to the end you can relax for a while/ BUT boy you clean up
          your mess or boy, you'll never get home/ RUN TO THE
          Moooooon/ LIiiiiiiiiight


          A courtroom of blacklight illumination. The judge's bench is a
          towering aviary of prehistoric flying reptiles. The judge,
          TACH SYN, strikes a match from the bench. Inhales deeply
          upon the handrolled fushia emerald cigarette, extracted from
          an intricatly carved chromium steel case. The theater of the
          courtroom is littered with Universal Nomads, whom treat the
          court as a recreational theater or a reality TV studio or a
          Hells Angels Rally. His high & unholy dishonor murmers in a
          grumbling growl

          Oh, shit! Verlo is next on the docket. Where's the fuckin' baliff?!?
          Hey,baliff!! Get yer ass in here!

          MADAME FATE enters the courtroom, her arms widespread, her vocal
          modulation emmulating an exotic crone. She carries an
          eightball in her right hand, a heartshaped box of liquid
          morphine centered chocolates in her left. Blowing kisses to
          the drunk, dissheveled, & deathly gypsys, scattered throughout
          the courtroom, she approaches the Judge's bench. Strutting & swishing,
          she stops in front of Tach, performing a little shimmyPOP!
          MADAME FATE

          Whatcha want, dearie?

          What I want is none of what you got. The next case is a law suit
          filed against Verlo, for 'failure to submit payment'.

          The courtroom explodes into an earthshattering cacophony of laughter
          & 'boos'. Madame Fate leans across the bench exposing
          cleavage. Madame Fate sneers fingering the scar running from
          Tach's forehead to chin.

          MADAME FATE You've got to be kidding. Don't you remember
          what happened, the last time he was here?

          (under his breath)

          Of course I do. (almost shouting) It took me a week
          MADAME FATE

          My next question is...who's suing, my sweet little baby,
          this time?

          (face twisted into a constipated grimace, grumbling) Fear.

          Boos, hisses, & a concert of foul language echo through the
          court. Tach jumps atop his bench attempts to quell the
          cantankerous audience.

          Don't give me any shit! If you've got a problem with it,
          talk to Justice! I just work here! She's the one signing my
          check! Take it up with her! And YOU! (pointing to Fate)
          Bring me Verlo & step on it!
          MADAME FATE

          Oh, OK. Where is he?

          He's Earthbound.
          MADAME FATE

          Smiles slyly. what's he doing down there?

          He's on a date w/ Karma.

          Fate klucks her tongue before continuing
          MADAME FATE

          OOOHHHHMMM! I wonder if he's drivin' my cousin around, or maybe...vice
          versa. OK, I'll do it! This should be fun.

          This court is recessed, until Fate can drag lover boy back from
          that miserable mudball.

          KLAK, KLAK!- sez the gavel.


          SPIRIT of VERLO -Yes! I would owe you the very fiber of my existence
          for minimal wage, for exotic flesh, mayhaps some sort of
          status. In this, my meaningless death, which is just as
          worthless as the life I have just escaped, again. I ask you
          stranger, if your offer is an exit to this worthless reality?
          If your lip service is meant to shackle me into a lie of
          beauty, truth, or hope, save it for the tourist. They are
          more likely to pay a higher price for your services. The
          only form of currency I own is jade. As valueless a
          commodity, as love or hate.

          Touche, young lord, touche! Methinks the offer I lay at your feet,
          may quench your thirst & quell the flames of your detestable meloncholy.
          I own a plot of space, located conviently betwixt DEATH & PURGETORY.
          A prime location. A young artist, such as yourself, would
          have an endless supply of enjoyment & reward wandering
          through, at all times. All that I ask for in return, is one
          simple task. This task would surely cause, one such as YOU,
          no inconvience, at all.

          SPIRIT of VERLO Name your price, salesman, my patience grows short
          & there are many sheep to fleece!

          Pray thee, young friend, measure my words w/ a steady mind, lest
          your impatience should form an impudent judgement. All that
          I require, is a scribe to speak my name & sculpte my
          portrait on a plane of life, entitled EARTH.

          Chaos smiles at Verlo who is obviously more interested


          AHHA! Stopped deathlike in his proverbial tracks. I spied a spark
          ignite at the mention of that watery ball of mud.

          And what, my dear benefactor, would be the conditions
          weighed upon this glorious plot of space, whereon, lost
          souls of religious inclination travel through in multitudes.
          Say your name, friend, so that I may answer in a timely

          If you do accept the labor I lay at your feet, the space is yours,
          AS YOU WISH ! Upon completion of this task, I ask for
          nothing & you owe me the same. As for my name... It is one
          of change & constant. I AM CHAOS.

          Fractals of flowers, sex, minerals, and stars absorb the entire
          scene before fading into.


          Loudspeakers blair a drumroll for Madame Fate. Entering the neon
          courtroom, She's carrying the intoxicated, blacked out Verlo
          in her arms w/ his head hanging back, mouth opened, snoring
          a little louder than he actually needs to. Various
          lacerations decorate his neanderthalian face. Judge Syn
          looks toward the cieling, shaking his mohawked head from
          side to side.
          MADAME FATE

          You asked for it, you got it. HEREEEEEEEES laughing boy!

          THWHUMP! Verlo's body thuds to the ground. Drawn out of his Bacchnalian
          slumber, he scopes out the courtroom, squinting his left eye
          to make everything balance. Tach rapidly raps off the
          charges, attempting to evoke a timely response.

          You were summoned to this court upon charges of 'failure to submit
          payment'. How do you plead?

          Hey! Wait a minute, here! I never saw that girl before, in
          my life. How was I supposed to know she was only seventeen?
          She said she was old enough to know better. SHE said she was
          a Vegas showgirl. I didn't know her father was a preacher.
          In the bible it sez 'BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY...', right?
          Well, I was just...

          The courtroom cheers, whistles & claps. Verlo's gaze turns
          from the bench to the audience, with a smirk of 'Oh Yeah.."

          That's not what yer here for,ya fuckin' drunk.

          A stronger moment of recognition washes over his hazy

          Oh yeah,.. AHHH, Judge Syn, how the hell have ya been?

          Verlo jumps to his feet & faces the audience of the courtroom.

          A funny thing happened to me on the way to court. A rabbi walks
          up to me w/ a pig in a dress. I say 'Excuse me, Mr. Rabbi, I
          don't believe that's kosher.' He sez 'Kosher, hell that's my
          motherin law.' BADUMba! The moral of the proverb is
          IN A DRESS. YACHTYACHT YACHTYACHT! SOOO... Tach, how the
          hell's it hanging? Long time no see.

          Cut the shit. Your in deep this time. The charge is 'failure to
          submit payment'. The plantiff is Fear. The prosecuting
          attorney is Time. Whose got yer back, man? This is serious
          shit. Don't depend on your circus antics to save your ass
          from going down. These guys are heavywieghts.

          AHHH, Tach you know FEAR has no home, in my MYND, BODY or SOUL.
          I WILL DEFEND MYSELF W/ extremely casual vibrations of well
          versified and intentional adultry!

          The courtroom cheers.

          I mean adult-like behavior... Adulthood!

          I hope you got a better trick than that up your sleeve.

          Everybody's a critic. I guess I'll have to pull out the big guns.
          Don't start the witchhunt without me.

          (screaming bloody fuckin' murder) LET THE TRIAL BEGIN!


          Verlo stares into the rearview with strobing lights

          It seems, everytime I find someone to trust(NO MATTER HOW MUCH
          THEY SAY THEY LOVE ME) my communication skills fail me.
          Words twisted! Mangled by...LOVE? Nah! Let's not get stupid.
          It doesn't exist, man! Hologram images, projected into
          loneliness. Beautiful dryads, photographed on hazy green curtains
          of smoke. There's one that wears her armour as a crown of
          emeralds. So regal, SHE of the VOID. To fill the heart, an
          epoch of emerald could not fill. The space which was
          narrated by much creulty. RAPED, PILLAGED, & MURDERED was I.
          Scorned by LOVE... CUT TO:


          THP Standing outside a purple and green taxicab.
          PULLOVER COP

          Scorned by love? Did you say 'SCORNED BY LOVE' Mr. Verlo? VERLO
          Yes, officer, I said 'SCORNED BY LOVE'.
          PULLOVER COP

          Well now, that puts a whole new slant on it,duhnit? Now
          see, since I know you were 'scorned by love', maybe I can
          convince the judge to go just a little easier on you. What I
          really need though, is your signiture right down there on
          the X. If you would like to see a judge, that can be
          arranged. THIS IS NOT A PLEA OF GUILTY. But hey! If you'd
          like to grease the wheels of justice, so to speak, please
          send a check or money order to the address on the back of
          the ticket.


          MDT and neon LEDs illuminate Verlo

          No compute, Man! Totally different conspiracy. You seem to
          be ignoring the fact, sir, that we are speaking in tones as
          harsh & cold as concrete. I only speak in warmer, more
          realistic tones, of broken hearted fools, who believe &
          believe again.


          In order of importance, in days gone by, we have MOONDAY,
          the day which seperates the dark from the light. That which
          signifies Death seperating from Life. Can you see who I am
          behind this mask, fashioned to resemble the form of a
          brutish oaf? Can you see ME? Yes, of course I know what I
          look like. I chose this costume, this flesh. The forever
          rebirthed PHOENIX, exploding into flame to reach the next
          stage of enlightenment. Why must the DRYAD of MOONDAY ever
          change her mask? Unless, her only wish is to guide me through
          this maze of flesh & lies painted on, in search of...the
          very same treefruit Tantalus found difficulty in obtaining,
          sustinance. Next comes, BLUESDAY, a day of reflection &
          meaning. The patterns, of this dryad, swirl as smooth as ice
          cream, through my heart. Well... not actually ice CREAM,
          more like ice milk. Ice cream's chemically spawned, adopted,
          stepbrother. Deeper still, PLAYDOUGHtm. Kidz love to play w/
          it &...EAT IT ! Just to rip it out in no specified manner.
          The DRYAD of the BLUES, the girl got a headfull of steam & a
          big butt. You don't see it coming? Get off the tracks, man!
          It's a fast one! As I shout ' I want to hold this one, just
          for a minute!' I didn't know it but the train actually does
          keep rolling all night long. I thought it was just some old
          song that kept playing in my head, for AMUSEMEANT purposes only.
          WOW! Maybe I'll walk backwards to see where I'm going. In
          matters of such. From this point on. HUEVOS DIAS A rest
          period, time out, if you will. To draw energy from the
          planet, shrouded by humans. Moving forward to destroy the past,
          of failure & ignorance. This DRYAD is Young, Fertile, & Unaccoustomed
          to the ways of man. The same mistake over & over & over again.
          THOR'SDAY Whereas the destructive forces of humanity,
          become a thing of beauty. I thought that this was
          understood, the coincidental aspects of life on this planet.
          The YIN. The YAN. I owe you nothing. NO EXPLAINATIONS,
          PLEASE! The time you have wasted, was yours to do w/ as you
          wished. Thor's DRYAD is a lusty battleaxe, as if Elvis were
          a female wrestler...Baby, I was wrong for ever letting you
          go. I will feel this mistake until the day, RIGOR MORTIS is
          my favorite form of exercise. Before that day, I will
          probaly feel it again. AND AGAIN. Don't take it too hard. I
          chose you. FRIA'SDAY A day to choose new meat. The Earth
          Mother updates her stud service. Still trying to figure out
          why this DRYAD, is a beautiful fat chick? All the skinny
          legs understand. Still trying to figure out why I shoved my
          cock back into my jeans, & walked right out the door? If it
          only means something to me I would rather just go swimming
          in your MYND. The reason I did? A different time...A
          different day...A different me.
          PULLOVER COP

          That's all fine & well, son, but there's still the small matter
          of this ticket. Let me see what we got here. You were doin'
          one hundredsixty in a twenty mile an hour zone. You clipped
          a jaywalker, we'll let that slide though. Damn fool,
          shouldn't be playin' in the middle of traffic. Your car is
          decorated w/ symbols of antichristianity. And lastly you
          are an eyesore, to the state of humankind. Let me
          see...twenty...fifty...a hundred...two...four...your fine is
          five thousand dollars.

          If you would allow me to finish officerTHE ALMIGHTY SATURN'S
          DAY Whereas the pent up paper pushers, are encouraged to
          allow their superegos to run amok, in order to devastate
          the spirit plane through means of Earthly debauchery & vice.
          MONEY/ALCHOL/ABUSE A repugnant oder wafts through the air.
          This DRYAD is a party girl, keeping careful tally of Karma points.
          If she's drunk & passed out, an excellent opportunity for
          you to score in a big way. Either positive or negative. You
          cast the final ballot. You may feel the urge to humiliate
          her in moments of alcoholic abandon. GO AHEAD! SHE'S running
          a tab for you. ALL HAIL SORROW'SDAY Roll over & see what
          you bought &/or what bought you. REMEMBER THAT TAB? How's
          yer head feel? This room doesn't look familiar, does it? The
          vertical shadows scream 'IMPRISONMENT!' Time of
          retrospection, my friend. AND...Oh, by the way...your tab is
          past due. This dryad is vengful & callous. SHE speaks w/ a
          firey swift sword & SHE doesn't take checks! The verdict has
          been rendered. Everyone is watching you, as you are lead to
          the BOX of PAIN & GUILT. The buxom DRYAD of SATURN is
          nowhere to be found. SORROW'SDAY draws the galactic plan to
          a close. The Dragon Eats It's Own Slop. SLEEP THIS ONE OUT.
          PULLOVER COP

          I don't think you have a real clear image of what's going on here,
          son. I have been appointed by forces beyond your realm, your
          little fantasy world. I'm talking about the retrobution of
          your crimes. RETALIATION from the LONG ARM. Your blood will
          be paid in gold. If you don't fork over the monies, your
          fine will be extracted through the sweat & tears chiseled
          from your soul. At which time we violate your FREEDOM in a
          penal system, which proves all men aren't actually equals.
          There are men who BELONG imprisoned Those who refuse the
          collar & leash society allows them to wear. SOOOO... wadda
          ya say, son? Can ya get the five grand or would you prefer
          to stay in a government facility, conviently located
          downtown. It's kinda like an introduction, where we break
          your spirit. Then we send you to eek out a dismal existence,
          far from civilizised man & his world of rules. So pay up or
          shut up. I ain't got all day.


          Images of desperate caged prisoner and lunatic gaurds. Rusty bars.
          Lots of insects. Stale food [sound- KASHLANKKA]

          (v.o.) Caged as a wild animal is caged! My rogish exploits have
          earned me a place among societies most intrepid villians. My
          master leaves my cell jangling keys, while whistling an old
          'nigger work song'. My reality comes crashing down upon me,
          invading my eyes, ears, & nose. The enviornment is room
          temperture, the floor as icy as the SIBERIAN SURF. Just as the
          glares of my new neighbors. Dissecting my brain, they catch
          a whiff of fluids produced by my adrenal glands. No reason
          to start a conversation, I do not wish to communicate w/
          these..these CONVICTS. Who could imagine what sort of
          depravity lurks behind their collective & beady eyes. The
          unshaven masses, how truly criminal they appear. Unmoving,
          yet watching my every movement w/ anticipation. The
          crouching beasts, waiting for a slip, a flaw, an uneasiness
          to my gait. A subtle ballet of uncertainty unfolds, as the
          silence grows thick as gelitan. I move in a methodical
          manner, to create a current only I can traverse. This path I
          have chosen, only I can travel. I stretch out on a cot, to
          educate all to the fact of how smooth & sleek I envision
          myself. I decipher the runes on the cieling 'PACO90 JUICE
          CREW' 'JIMMY GAT' 'WESTSIDE DUKES #1' HARK! Footsteps
          approaching from the commons, heavy w/ a slight limp produced
          by the left leg.
          PRISONER 1.1

          Ya need a smoke?

          no, thanks. PRISONER 1.1 What are you in for, dude? VERLO Because
          I offend society.
          PRISONER 1.1

          Yo , they got me for armed robbery. Can ya get to that?
          Crazy shit. I told this freaked out cab driver I was gonna
          rob him. He threw my ass outta the cab & started kicking me
          w/ these steel toed shoes. MUTHAFUKA broke my fuckin'
          ankle. Then he jumps back inda cab & drives on down the road.
          Now I got a broken ankle, can't walk, so the cops pick me up
          for crawlin' through the sewer. Now ain't that a bitch, he
          breaks MY ankle, & I go to jail. I'm going to see if my
          public defender can sue his ass. Shit, man you can't do shit
          like that. I'm going to make alot of money off his ass. Do
          you wanna play some dominoes or cards, dude?


          In TV Room filled with hyper-active television viewers RULE #1
          (STATED with ROYAL BLUE MAGIC MARKER on cardboard taped to
          the TV) -DoNot TOUCHthe TV!- (sic)

          (v.o.) In a room filled w/ sexually deprived deviants, watching
          former obese women expound their need/craving for orgasam,
          the most wise course of action would be to refer back to
          rule #1. Sorrow eradicates wisdom.

          Verlo is standing and walking solemnly towards the TV)

          (v.o.) When a thin woman breaks your heart, the pain is
          sharp & well defined, like a razor doing figure eights on
          your chest. A heart stomping by a full figured woman is
          another commodity altogether. Imagine, if you can, being
          blindfolded & tossed into a bottomless pit. After falling for
          close to three years, rip off the blindfold, screeching at
          the top of your lungs "I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO FALL, IN
          ORDER TO LOVE YOU!" THAWUNK! You hit the crystalline plane
          w/ the force of a juggernaut. Upon the exact moment of impact,
          a bank vault crashes around your ears. You bang on the five
          foot thick door to no avail. It's a timelock, man! You gotta
          do your time, in the LOCKDOWN of LOVE.

          Verlo pulls up a garbage can. Uses it as a stepping stool. Grabs
          the TV with both hands.
          PRISONER 1.2

          Say man, I was watchin' that shit ! PRISONER 1.3 Yo dog yer gonna
          get ganked!

          (v.o.) The air grew thick, as my asshole puckered w/ the knowledge,
          this could be my final idiotic gesture. I briskly rotated
          the antiquated channel selector, until finally I slammed my
          right fist into the combonation power/volume knob, ending my
          flurry of frenzied video images. Silence smothered my fellow
          terrorist. I pivoted to meet the disbelieving stare of cell
          block 'C' (lunatic preachy) WE'ER NOT PLAYING THEIR GAME ANY
          LONGER! They imprison US, then expect US to suck the dick of
          the lying media whores. FUCK THAT SHIT! WE ARE THE OUTLAWS!
          We are the one's w/ no place in the 'MAN'S' society.

          kRaZy? KRaZEE! If I'm a lunatic because I believe that society
          is the real crime against US..THEN, SO BE IT! If YOU
          believe, it has any right to shove these stereotypical roles
          of good & evil, down our throats, then go ahead & turn on
          this labotomy tube. I will watch quietly as you are
          programmed into this wicked, wicked society.

          The slap of barefeet on polished marble, a klick & the TV lived
          once more. The first image that appeared, on screen, was
          LIBERACE pulling off a reptile costume(?) proceeding to eat
          a TO GO box of fried rice, his only utensil, his tongue. The
          rice was actually maggots. Verlo vomits on the jailhouse
          floor as the outlaws laugh on track.

                                                          CUT TO:


          FAT COP stands outside the holding cell with a list of names on
          a little piece of paper. As he reads the paper he balls it
          up and throws it down.
          VAUGHN COOL

          It starts on the floor below & blows through the jailhouse
          like an angry child. Flowing with the elegant beauty of
          lava. Chrome women appear with lazer pistols firing. Carving
          a swathing path through the city jail. ANDROID WOMEN TO THE
          RESCUE! Destroying the oppressor & releasing the oppressed.
          No need for processing. The final retribution has arrived!
          Stern chromium faces are incapable of reflecting emotions.
          The gamut is run! The ace card is played! All rise to the
          final verdict. All hail, the Flower Maidens of SORROW'SDAY.
          CUT TO:


          An emergency meeting has been called.

          We are going to have to stop this project. The subject has corrupted
          the findings of our research. I feel that if we continue
          along the projected path we shall be subjected to
          manipulated data. I, therefore am requesting a halt in this
          research until a more stable subject can be located.

          A general murmur of disbelief

          Are you telling us you are unable to handle this project?
          The Science League has spent a great deal to ensure the
          success of this project. We will not be denied this, Doctor.

          You do not seem to understand. Verlo is manipulating the outcome
          of this research

          flashes of Intern playing solitaire, Verlo making love to Kartog,
          Kartog driving past hitch-hiking Verlo, Verlo smiling while
          hooked into the Dream Research computers.

          Even the data I have processed this far seems to have

          Could we have an example of this 'corruption', Doctor?

          Kartog remote controls a video of herself wearing an orange sweater
          while attaching wires to Verlo

          In this video I start talking about Atlantis. The truth is I have
          never recorded a comment on Atlantis throughout this entire
          experiment. The point remains, there it is, Atlantis
          IT SCIENTIST

          Maybe it's only a problem on the playback device. I don't know
          if it's enough to warrant a total eradication of the data
          we've collected up to this point.

          Even a trivial point of contention distorts the research. I don't
          know how this is happening or even if it truly is a master
          plot devised by Verlo, but the fact is, our data collection
          has been comprimised. The only way we would be able to carry
          on with this research is to clear the entire slate. I am
          proposing we find another 'dreamer' and compare the Verlo9
          data to the new findings.

          My god, Doctor. This research has been going on for six years.
          Now you tell us that we are going to have to file it away
          because of data corruption? It has been extremely difficult
          to find a 'rara avis' sleeper in the first place. The next
          thing you tell us is there is no way we can use what we have
          found to profit our research. If I didn't know you better,
          Susan, I might think you are attempting to hide something
          from us. Is there something you have neglected to tell us
          concerning your relationship with this subject?

          I have made no contact with this subject outside these facilities...

          Another general murmur of disbelief.


          My dreams have become Verlo's dreams.

          This is not uncommon. When researchers spend a great deal of time
          dissecting the dreams of their subjects there is a 'sleep
          leak' which may seem times rather un-nerving or uncanny.
          Nothing new. That goes at least as far back as Freud.

          You don't seem to understand. Before I started this research my
          dreams were barely memorable. Now I find that my own dreams
          meet me in broad daylight. It's not something I find
          terrifying. It is, however, something which I believe has no
          place within my scientific findings. This is the reason I am seeking
          to temporarily halt research until another dreamer is

          Though I thouroghly understand your intrepidation at continuing,
          Doctor, our backing is being assigned review in this
          upcoming quarter. The research must go on.

          I guess it's my turn... I don't think I'm making myself

          Quite the opposite, Doctor. You have made yourself as clear as
          crystal. That is why I am giving you an emergency vacation.
          Don't worry about your things. We will have them shipped as
          soon as you tell us where you end up. Ladies and gentlemen,
          this meeting is adjourned.

          All scientists look to one another questioningly. The elder scientist
          is the first to rise. He turns his back.

          This meeting is adjourned.

          All scientists rise and leave, except for Kartog. She stands with
          her hands on the table very silently.

          (v.o) The lady with the crimson eyes She tried to give me direction
          through my dreams These dreams came after or right before
          Can't be sure of the timeline yet
          X FADE:


          Kartog is sitting on a stone. Verlo approaches. Kartog looks up
          with crimson eyes. She seems as if she is locked into
          extreme meloncholy.

          As soon as I open my eyes My body gets tossed into a
          blender. The straight world squints back with a chuckle and
          a sneer At hazy flowers sillohutted against the Sun and Moon
          At mermaid smiles with green hair

          Kartog looks to Verlo and mouths words as if she were giving him
          directions along the roadway.

          The Lady with the crimson eyes She offered direction But she held
          something else Directly behind those crimson eyes Something
          dealing with sadness, maybe a little pain I listened very
          hard to the words she did not say I wanted to pick her and
          carry her away Away from the pain (ECHO: Away from the pain)
          derived through a pride (ECHO: derived through her pride) I
          was snatched from my dreams by the real world Snatched from
          my dreams of the lady With the crimson eyes
          FADE IN:

          EXT- Tropical Beach with white sand & palm trees- Day

          A cabana with a thatched roof is a fifty yards from the crystal
          blue surf. A hammock is stretched between two palm trees.
          Women from the Gauguin painting -Arearea- are bringing
          fruits and vegetables to the cabana. CUT TO: Amerika's feet
          in clear, blue surf. Amerika walking along the surf. She
          picks up gold coins, playing cards (Ace of Hearts & King of Clubs),
          and a white rose. She hears a great deal of excitement
          coming from the cabana. She focuses to see the women leaving
          the cabana laughing and smiling. She follows her footprints
          back towards the cabana. There are some monkeys above the
          roof of the cabana chattering away.
          CUT TO:

          INT- Inside the cabana- cont

          Inside the cabana is a little monkey, with brilliant pink balls,
          eating a tropical fruit. The monkey looks at Amerika and
          smiles before taking a fruit and spliting through the window
          of the cabana. Amerika walks to the table holding the fruit.
          Amerika lays down her found treasures. She moves through the
          cabana where Verlo is sleeping. As Amerika approaches a
          large female cat -meows- Amerika puts her finger to her

          Shhh... no le despiertes..

          The cat and the animals split. Amerika contemplates the sleeping
          Verlo. AMERIKA Good morning, my Love. Ready to wake up? Or
          maybe you would rather sleep more, eh?

          Verlo props himself on his elbows. Amerika leaves to the other
          room. She returns with fruit.

          How did you sleep?
          FADE OUT:

          The End

Return to

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. 
This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express 
written permission of the author.